its branches down to the earth'; and there', by a new conception', they form new roots', and send up a fresh stock'. So', man', having sprung originally from the earth', passes his temporal life like a plant', sustaining himself and growing vigorous by nourishment drawn from the earth', until made ripe for death', he tends downwards', and is sown again in his mother earth', where he perishes not', but expects a quickening'. Thus we see', that death deprives us not of existence', but merely subjects us to a change'.

Death finds not a worse friend than an alderman', to whose door I never knew him welcome'. But he is an importunate guest', and will not be said nây'. Even though the master of the house himself should affirm that he is not within', yet his answer will not be taken'. What heightens his fear is', he knows he is in danger of forfeiting his flesh', not being prepared for the payment day': and the sickly uncertainty with which he is to step out of the world', quite unfurnished for his general account', makes him desire to retain his gravity and place', and prepare his soul to answer in scarlet'.

I gather', that death is disagreeable to most men', because they die intestate': for there is a prevailing superstition among them', that', when their will is made', they are nearer the grave than before'. Now they think to scare destiny', from which there is no appeal', by not making a will'; and endeavour to lengthen life', by a protestation of their unwillingness to die'. They who are well-seated in this world', whose fortune looks towards them with a smile', are willing to anchor at its side', and desire to put the evil day far off, and to postpone the ungrateful time of their exit'. No'; these are not the men who have bespoken death'. By their looks', they appear not to entertain a thought of him'.

Death arrives graciously only to such as sit in darkness', or lie heavily burdened with grief and irons':—To the poor Christian', that sits bound in the galley'; to despairing widows', pensive prisoners', and deposed kings':-to them whose fortune runs back', and whose spirit mutinies'. To such', death is a redeemer', and the grave a place of desired rest'. These wait upon the shore', and beckon death to draw near', wishing', above all things', to see his star', and be led to his place': wooing the remorseless sisters', to draw out the thread of their life', and break it off before their hour'.

But death is a doleful messenger to a usurer', and fate untimely cuts his thread'. Death is never mentioned by him', except

Eg-zist'ense-not, unse. For'tshåne-not, för'tshån.

when rumours of war and civil tumult remind him of his grim approach'. When many hands are armed', and the peace of the city is in disorder', and the foot of the common soldier sounds an alarm on his stairs', then', perhaps', broken in thoughts of his moneys abroad', and cursing the monuments of coin in his house', he is willing to think of death': and', hasty of perdition', will doubtless hang himself', lest his throat be cut'; provided he may do it in his counting-room', surrounded with his wealth', towards which his eye sends a languishing salute', even at the turning off"; reserving', always', that he have time and liberty in writing to depute himself as his own heir': for this is a great peace to his end', and wonderfully reconciles him upon the point'.

For my part', I think that nature would do me great wrông', were' I to be as long in dying as I was in being born'; but that is', doubtless', not a point for me to settle'. In truth', no man knows the lists of his own patience', nor can any one divine how able he will be to endure suffering', till the storm comes', this virtue being tested only in action'. But out of a respect for doing the most important business well', I would always keep a guard', and stand upon having faith and a good conscience'. If wishes could find place', I would die all together', and not my mind often', and my body but once'; that is', would prepare for the messenger of death', for sickness and affliction', and not be compelled to wait lông', or be tempted by the violence of pâin'. Herein I do not profess to be a stoick', and hold grief no evil', but an opinion', and a thing indifferent'. With Cæsar', I grant that the quickest passage is the easiest'.

There is nothing which more readily reconciles us to death', than a quiet conscience', and the belief that we shall be well spoken of by virtuous survivors', and enter upon a rich harvest of immortality'. But what is more insupportable', than evil fame deserved'; or who can see worse days than he who', living', is compelled to follow at the funeral of his reputation'? I have laid up many hopes that I shall be privileged from that kind of mourning'; and I wish the same privilege to extend to all with whom I wage love'.

Death is our friend'; and he that is not prepared to entertain him', is not at home'. Though ready for him', I do not wish to forestall his coming'. I wish nothing but what may better my days': nor do I desire any greater place than the front of good opinion'. Therefore', I make not love to the continuance of

fore.

Nå'tshåre-not, nå'tshår. Wêr. Kân'shênse-not, shunse. Tнer'

days'; but to the goodness of them'. Nor do I wish to die', but refer myself to my hour which the great Dispenser of all things has appointed me': yet', as I am frail', and have suffered for my first fault', were it given me to choose', I should not be anxious to see the evening of my days', that extremity being a disease of itself', a return to mere infancy'. Hence', if perpetuity of life were offered me', I should concur with the Greek poet', who said', that' "Such an age would be a mortal evil'."

Men fear death', as children fear to go in the dark'; and as that natural fear in children is increased by tales', so is the other'. Certainly', the contemplation of death', as the wages of sin', and the passage to another world', is holy and religious'; but the fear of it', as a tribute due to nature', is weak'. In religious meditations', there is sometimes a mixture of vanity and superstition'. In some of the friars' books on mortification', you are directed to reflect upon the pain you would expe rience', if only one of your fingers' ends were pressed or tortured', and thus imagine what the pains of death are when the whole body is corrupted and dissolved'; and yet', death often passes with less pain than is felt in the torture of a limb; for the most vital parts are not always the most sensitive'. By him who spoke only as a philosopher and a natural man', it was well said, "Pompa mortis magis terret quam mors ipsa', ("The pageantry of death terrifies more than death itself.")

199

It is worthy of remark', that there is no passion in the mind of man so weak', but it masters the fear of death'. Revenge'.. triumphs over death'; love'.. slights it'; honour'. . aspires to it'; nay', we read that on the death of Otho the emperour', who slew himself', pity', the tenderest of all passions', incited many to die out of mere compassion for their sovereign'. It is no less worthy of our attention', to, observe how little alteration is made upon good spirits by the approaches of death'; for they seem to be the same to the last moment'. Augustus Cæsar died in a compliment': "Livia', remember our marriage', and live':... farewell';" Tiberius', according to Tacitus', died in dissimulation': "Now his strength and body', not his dissimulation', deserted him';" Vespasian', in a jest':-Galba', with a magnanimous sentiment': "Feri', si ex re sit populi Romani'," (“Strike', if it be for the good of the Roman people';") Septimus Severus', in despatch: "Adeste', si quid mihi restat agendum';" ("Haslen', if any thing remains to be done for me',") and the like'. It is as natural to die', as it is to be bŷrn'; and to an infant', Wêr. 'In'fan'sé—not, in'fun'sê. Tor'tshire-not, tör'tshår.

perhaps the one is as painful as the other'. He that dies in an earnest pursuit', is like one that is wounded in hot blood', who', for the time', scarcely feels the hurt'. Therefore a mind bent upon that which is good', thereby averts the terrours of death'. Death opens the gate to good fame', and extinguishes envy'.

Thus spoke the Christian philosopher'; but', on this theme', no philosopher ever poured forth such a sublime strain of triumphant rapture', as that uttered by the great apostle of the Gentiles': "I am now ready to be offered'; and the time of my departure is at hand'. I have fought a good fight'; I have finished my course'; I have kept the FAITH'. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness', which the Lord', the righteous Judge', will give me at that day': and not to me only', but', also', unto all them that love his appearing'.”

SECTION VII.

Ugly Women.-NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.

THE ancient inhabitants of Amathus, in the island of Cyprus, were the most celebrated statuaries in the world, which profession they almost exclusively supplied with gods and goddesses. Every one who had a mind to be in vogue, ordered his deity from these fashionable artists: even Jupiter himself was hardly considered orthodox and worship-worthy, unless emanating from the established Pantheon of the Cypriots; and, as to Juno, Venus, Minerva, and Diana, it was admitted that they had a peculiar knack in their manufacture; and, it needs hardly be added, they drove a thriving trade in these popular goddesses.

But this monopoly proved more favourable to the fortunes than to the happiness of the parties. By constantly straining above humanity, and aspiring to the representation of celestial beauty; -by fostering the enthusiasm of their imaginations in the pursuit of the beau ideal,* they acquired a distaste, or, at least, an indifference, for mortal attractions, and turned up their noses at their fair country-women, for not being Junoes or Minervas. Not one of them equalled the model which had been conjured

aIn-dif'für'ênse-not, unse.

*Imaginary excellence.

up in their imaginations, and not one of them, consequently, would they deign to notice. At the public games, the women were all huddled together, whispering and looking glum, while the men congregated as far from them as possible, discussing the beau ideal. Had they been prosing upon politicks, you might have presumed it an English or an American party. Dancing was extinct, unless the ladies chose to lead out one another; the priests waxed lank and wo-begone for want of the marriage offerings. Hymen's altar was covered with as many cobwebs as a poor's box: successive moons rose and set without a single honey-moon, and the whole island threatened to become an anti-nuptial colony of old bachelors and old maids.

In this emergency, Pygmalion, the most eminent statuary of the place, falling in love with one of his own works, a figure of Diana, which happened to possess the beau ideal in perfection, implored Venus to animate the marble; and she, as is well known to every person conversant with authentick history, immediately granted his request. So far as this couple were concerned, one would have imagined that the evil was remedied; but, alas! the remedy was worse than the disease. The model of excellence was now among them, alive and breathing; the men were perfectly mad, beleaguering the house from morn to night to get a peep at her; all other women were treated with positive insult; and, of course, the whole female population was possessed by the furies. Marmorea (such was the name of the animated statue) was no Diana in the flesh, whatever she might have been in the marble; for, if the scandalous chronicles of those days may be believed, she had more than one favoured lover. Certain it is, that she was the cause of constant feuds and battles, in which many lives were lost, and Pygmalion himself was at last found murdered in the neighbourhood of his own house. The whole island was now on the point of civil war, on account of the philanthropical Helen, when one of her disappointed wooers, in a fit of jealousy, stabbed her to the heart, and immediately after threw himself from a high rock into the sea. Such is the tragedy which would probably be enacting, at the present moment, in every country of the world, but for the fortunate circumstance, that we have no longer any fixed standard of beauty, real or imaginary, and, by a necessary and happy consequence, no determinate rule of ugliness. In fact, there are no such animals as ugly women, though we still continue to talk of them as we do of harpies, gorgons, and chimeras. There is no deformity that does not find admirers, and no

C

Pôz-zes'. 'Prêz'ënt-not, unt. Mo'ment-not, mo'munt.